


Pretty, Shameful Things

by Ennaejj



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Declarations Of Love, M/M, Makeup, Mentions of Crossdressing, Panty Kink, Praise Kink, Shame, Smut, Top!Sam, bottom!Dean, mild dubcon elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-02 00:06:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5226272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ennaejj/pseuds/Ennaejj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they fuck, Dean pretends he's someone else.  He dresses up and paints himself pretty, because he thinks Sam won't have him otherwise.  But all Sam has ever wanted is Dean, just Dean.  </p><p>Basically, the Winchester boys are fucked-up for each other.  But what else is new?  Angst and smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty, Shameful Things

When Sam saw the makeup bag splayed open on the hotel bed--eye pencils and lipsticks and shadows and things he’d didn’t know the name of spilled everywhere--a hot rage took him, as it always did.  His insides coiled, thick and oily with understanding. 

Why did he have to do this?  Why couldn’t the jerk just be...?  Not _normal_ , normal wasn’t the word.

But why did he have to do this to himself, to Sam?

Sam hated these days, when Dean, his cavalier ass of an older brother, disappeared.  When he turned into someone else.  When something twisted took hold of him and he begged, fucking _begged_ \--but not with his words, never his words--and all Sam could do was shut his eyes and try to pretend...

That was what the makeup was for, Sam was sure.  To make it easier for him to pretend. 

But it didn’t make anything easier.  Sure, Sam didn’t see _Dean_ anymore, but he didn’t see what Dean wanted him to see, either.

For half a moment, he considered backing out of the room.  The Impala’s keys were right there on the table.  All he had to do was snatch them and run. 

But then he heard the sink turn on in the bathroom. 

Dean had been so quiet before, Sam had almost been able to pretend the room was empty, that perhaps Dean had gone out for something and had just left his makeup kit out on accident.

But the soft sounds now coming from the other side of the door shattered the illusion, making another flare of irritation rise in Sam’s gut.

“Fuck you, Dean,” he said under his breath, running shaky fingers through his long hair.  He tugged off his jacket and threw it on the bed with more force than necessary.  “Fuck. _You_.”

The water turned off and Sam heard a soft sprits.  Moments later the waft of perfume--like clean, cottony sheets (sheets cleaner than any he’d ever slept on)--swirled his way.

It was one of his favorite scents.  He’d mistakenly told Dean he always liked it when girls smelled clean. 

The smell tickled his insides in a familiar, warm way.  His dick gave an interested twitch in his pants. 

Sam ran his hands over his face as fiery shame colored his cheeks.

Usually, he waited for Dean to show himself.  That was the game.  Dean wanted to be ready, fully decked-out before he made Sam look at him. 

 _Not today_ , Sam thought.  He couldn’t take it today.

He rushed forward, pushing open the bathroom door with a _bang_.

Dean stood in front of the mirror, clearly unprepared for the intrusion.  He jumped when the door collided with the wall, his eyes big and his mouth forming a little 'O.'

 _Thank god_ , Sam let himself sigh.  _Thank god he hasn’t gotten very far_.

Dean had a tube of mascara in hand, the brush out.  Clearly he’d just finished applying it--his wide, green eyes were framed by long, black lashes.  A thin strip of eyeliner had been applied to his upper eyelids, giving them a slightly hooded look.  But no eyeshadow, thank god.  He always went too heavy with the eyeshadow.

And he hadn’t put on any blush or concealer.  And no god-awful red lipstick.  But his lips did look plum and shiny.  Sam caught sight of the petal-pink lip gloss resting on the sink’s rim.

“I’m not finished, Sammy,” Dean grated out, his voice a dark rumble. 

When he’d first opened the door and glimpsed Dean, he’d paused to appraise him.  Not a cold appraisal, but a calculated one.  Now that Dean had spoken, shattered the moment, anger gripped Sam again.  Every muscle in his body tensed, and he felt like seizing Dean by the collar and punching that pretty, plump mouth. 

 _Why do you make me do this?  Why do you want this_?

“Yes, Dean, you are,” he growled, wrenching the mascara from Dean’s hand and tossing it into the bathtub.  The action left a black smear across both their palms. 

“Fine,” Dean said bitterly.  He yanked a washcloth off the towel wrack and turned the faucet back on, ready to wash off the makeup he'd applied. 

 _Yes, good_ , Sam thought, the words forming concisely in his mind even if he didn't feel them.  This didn't _feel_ good.  He wanted Dean to take it off, yes, to go back to being his cocky big-brother.  _To remembering they were brothers_.

Sam knew that's what Dean got out of the makeup.  If he could look in the mirror and see someone else, maybe Sam could, too.  Maybe they could forget they were brothers while they touched and kissed in ways brothers weren't meant to.

But that was the problem.  Sam _did_ forget.  But not because he saw some pretty thing, open and willing before him.  Not because Dean stopped looking like himself with those layers and layers of paint on.  Not Because Dean stopped talking when they fucked because he knew if Sam heard his voice Sam would stop thrusting and go soft inside him. 

Sam forgot because he didn’t see a pretty thing when Dean was caked in makeup.  He didn’t see a fucking _girl_ like Dean wanted him to (Dean thought that was the only way Sammy could get it up--if he pretended he was fucking a girl).  He didn’t even see a person.

All he saw was a fucking whore. 

A whore that didn't care how wrong it was.  That liked the wrongness.  A whore that writhed under him and bit back every sound.  A whore that didn't care that half the time, when Sam was finished, he pulled out and left.  Half the time he abandoned Dean, leaving him to get off all by himself--mostly because Dean refused to let Sam get a hand on his dick.  Sam could touch him almost anywhere, but not there.

Not where Sam wanted to touch him most.

The whore was beautiful, and terrible, and would always disappear under a hot showerhead and leave him with nothing but Dean in denial.

When Dean didn't have his makeup, he pretended like this never happened.  A few times, when Sam brought it up, he had the gall to act like Sam was off his rocker.  He didn't say he didn't want to talk about it, he just fucking _pretended like it never happened_.

Before Dean could bring the washcloth to his face, Sam grabbed his wrist, spinning him around and pinning him to the sink with his hips.  Normally when they closed the distance, Sam started talking pretty, complimenting Dean and telling him how sweet he was.  It made Sam mad, burned him up, but Dean liked it, so he did it. 

But not today.  He was sick of Dean pulling this shit. 

"Dean," he whispered, leaning in, grinding his pelvis against his brother's.  "Dean."

Dean furrowed his brow.  "Sam, what are you--?"

Sam never said his name when they did this.  He didn't call him something else--though he'd disgustingly thought of using Deanna once or twice--he just said 'you.'  "You are so sweet, taking that cock like a pro."  "You are gorgeous, spread open for me."  "Your mouth is perfect, so perfect.  _You_ are perfect."

Today, Dean would get no praises.  Not if he insisted on his twisted game.

Sam cut off Dean's question with a kiss.  He grabbed his chin and hauled him forward, mashing those pouty, sticky lips against his.  Dean tried to turn his head, upset his ritual had been ruined, but Sam wouldn't let him; his fingers dug in, keeping Dean in place.  He forced his tongue inside Dean's mouth, and his brother took it grudgingly.

Up close, that clean smell was intoxicating.  And whatever Dean had used on his lips tasted sweet.  Sam liked it, and hated himself for liking it. 

After a moment he broke the kiss, and Dean said warningly, "Sammy."

"Shut up," Sam ordered.  "Shut up, _Dean_ , you goddamned cockslut." 

Dean froze, his eyes widening and eyebrows sloping up in shock.  He almost looked like he'd been slapped.  "What?"

"You're a fucking whore, painting yourself up.  So damn hungry for my cock--trying to make yourself look pretty.  Trying to be something you think I want.  Trying to be a fucking _girl_.  Think I pretend your ass is a pussy, huh?  Think I can forget you've got a dick dangling between your legs just because you've put a little color on those cock-sucking lips?"

He hadn't let go of Dean's jaw, and he kept it in a vice-grip, his knuckles going white.  He couldn't look Dean in the eye, though.  His gaze locked on Dean's mouth--that mouth that teased him when it clutched around the opening of a beer bottle, or turned upwards at one end in a smirk. 

"I never forget you've got a cock, Dean.  Not for a second."

Those beautiful lips moved slightly, like they wanted to say something, but they kept silent.  One of Dean's hands came up to clutch at Sam's wrist, encircling it loosely, just as a warning.

At the touch, Sam spun Dean around, making him face the mirror.  Most of the lip gloss was gone now, kissed off, but his bowed lips carried a heavy flush none the less.  If Sam were a stranger on the street, he probably wouldn't even notice that Dean was wearing makeup.  It was subtle, beautiful, just enough to make his doe-eyes pop. 

But it was too subtle for Dean.  He could still see himself.  Dean tried to turn away from the mirror, but Sam grabbed his hair to keep him facing forward. 

"What?" Sam asked directly into his ear.  "Don't want to watch me fuck _you_ , Dean?  Can't stand it if you think I'd have you just as you are?"

Dean averted his eyes, dropping his gaze to the stained porcelain of the sink.  "Stop it."

"Remember when you first turned into the whore?  When you first came to me like this?  I thought you were pulling some kind of colossal prank.  You in that white, silk slip with that cropped black wig on--kind of like the wig Bella wore when we first met her.  You looked at me shyly, then averted your eyes all submissive like.  I thought you were just being a jackass until you got down on your knees."

Dean's hands gripped the sides of the sink.  His back was taut, and his shoulders shook subtly.  If the tremors were from anger, or sadness, or shame, Sam couldn't say.

"Remember I let you unbutton my pants, get a hand inside, before I freaked?" Sam continued.  "Never could figure out why you tried again after I bolted the first time.  And the second.  And the third.  Was it because I didn't leave all together? Because I came back in the morning?  Remember when I finally gave in?  How I took you up against the wall in that dive?"

He gave Dean a pointed thrust of his hips, and Dean gasped.  He was still holding himself back, trying not to make a sound.  The whore was still in there. 

"I pressed your face into that dirty wallpaper, hiked up your skirt and just pounded into you.  Remember that grunt I made when I seated myself balls-deep in you for the first time?  I do, because you started to make the same sound--that gorgeous, needy, slutty sound--before you bit it back."

Sam grasped both of Dean's biceps, thrusting against him a few more times, his mouth still a hair's breadth away from the shell of Dean's ear.  Sam looked at Dean in the mirror, taking in how flushed he was, how pink his cheeks and lips were.  And Dean, the son-of-a-bitch, had his eyes closed. 

"Look at me, Dean."

When he didn't comply immediately, Sam grabbed him by the hair again.  "Look at me when I'm about to fuck you, damn it."

Dean obeyed, and when they made eye contact in the mirror, something broke in Dean.  Water welled in his eyes.  He looked up, trying to blink back the tears, but one fell anyway.  "Sammy, please," he said through gritted teeth.  "Not like this.  We can't like this."

"Why not?"

Dean bit his lip, and his long lashes blinked rapidly.  "Because it's _us_ \--for real.  Not like this.  Please.  _Please_.  I can't--I can't have you this way.  I'm not supposed to want it this way."

"Oh, and I am?  What the fuck has _supposed to_ ever had to do with our lives, huh?"

"When I want you, when I'm weak..." Dean's voice shook.  "It's not me.  It can't be me.  I can't--  I _can't_ \--"  His eyes returned to his own reflection.  "It's someone else.  _I'm_ not this sick.  There are words for what we do, Sam.  And they're not... not good words.  I'm not like that."

"You get to be someone else, but what about me?" Sam demanded.  "I still have to look at myself after, see the same Sam.  And you, you fucker, you make me face it alone."

"Sam, I--"

"No.  Shut up, Dean.  Shut your pretty, cock-sucking mouth."  Sam swiftly unbuttoned his pants, working them and his underwear down just low enough to let his erection free.  With a hand on the back of Dean's neck, Sam pushed Dean forward, yanking his jeans down just enough to reveal the swell of his ass and the pucker of his hole.  Dean didn't resist. 

"You are going to moan for me," Sam ordered.  "You, _Dean_ , are going to take your little brother's fat cock, and you are going to say my name when I come inside you."

Dean leaned forward further, closing the gap between his forehead and the cool surface of the mirror. 

Sam slid his middle finger around dean's sphincter, noting how slick it was.  Dean had already prepped himself, as usual.  It was part of the illusion; a well-used pussy didn't need to be fingered open first. 

"Sammy, please.  _Don't_."

Revulsion swamped Sam.  Disgusted, he yanked his finger away.  "No," he said, his anger full-force.  "You don't get to say, _don't_ ," he yelled.  "You don't get to say ' _stop_ ' and _'please, no'_ while I fuck you so you can feel better about it afterwards, like it wasn't your choice."  Sam backed away, letting go of Dean altogether.  "You aren't going to make me feel like I'm fucking forcing you, Dean.  That's not--it's not _fair_."

Dean shuddered.  "You're right.  I'm sorry."

"That's not good enough, Dean."  Sam pulled at his own hair. 

After a harsh swallow, Dean asked, "What do you want me to say?"

"Turn around," Sam demanded.  "Look at me."

Dean spun slowly, his chin lowered.  Another moment and he forced himself to meet Sam's eyes, jutting his jaw out, trying to appear defiant.  He just looked broken.

Sam rushed forward, cupping Dean's face tenderly.  Dean's Adam's-apple bobbed and his gaze flickered to the side shamefully. 

"I want _you_ , Dean," Sam said, bringing their foreheads together.  "It's ok to want me.  I _want_ you to want me.  You don't have to hide.  You don't have to make excuses."

"You don't get it," Dean grumbled.  "I'm the oldest.  I _know better_.  I held you in my arms when you were little, promised I'd keep you safe.  I'm supposed to protect you from--from guys like me.  So if I'm not a guy like me, just for a while..."

"That's all bullshit," Sam said, the faint flicker of a smile gracing his lips.  "So much bullshit.  You don't have to be ashamed, Dean.  Don't--don't make what we have shameful."

Dean looked into Sam's eyes, differently than before.  Like he was really seeing Sam for the first time since he'd burst into the bathroom

"I'm sick of being ashamed about things," Sam went on.  "Ashamed of the demon blood-- _still_ \--of being impure, of _everything_.  Don't make me ashamed of loving you.  Not when you love me back, not when we both want it." 

"Sammy," Dean groaned, his voice breaking. 

"When you put on the makeup, I _do_ pretend.  With a whore under me, I close my eyes and pretend it's just you, just my brother.  No lies between us, no bullshit, no pain.  Just us together and okay.  I wish you would just let us have this and be okay."

Dean reached up, threading his fingers through Sam's hair.  Sam held his breath, staring into Dean's eyes and wondering if it was too much, if his confession would scare Dean away.  _No chick-flick moments_ echoed through his mind.

 But Dean didn't back down, he leaned in and finally initiated a kiss as himself. 

The kiss was rough and needy, their mouths hot against one another.  This time Dean was the one to shove his tongue forward, lapping at Sam like he couldn't get deep enough.

Sam broke away, but only so he could move to Dean's neck, inhaling deeply to take in the soft, cottony smell of him.  He kissed and nipped at the space behind his jaw.  "Yes, Dean.  Thank you.  So good, you're so good.  It's okay.  We're okay."

The praise urged Dean on.  He reached for Sam's still-exposed cock, wrapping his fingers firmly around it and thumbing at the head.  Sam moaned and rolled his hips into Dean's tight fist. 

"Let me touch you," Sam begged, smoothing his hands down Dean's front until he reached the waistband of his jeans.  His ass was exposed, but his cock was still trapped.  "Let me touch you this time, please."

Dean swallowed dryly.  "Yeah, Sammy," he said against Sam's hair.  "Touch me."

A delicious shudder ran through Sam.  Dean's consent was nearly as arousing as that little twist-pull thing he was doing with his hand.  Quickly, he popped the button on Dean's jeans and slid his fingers inside, finding Dean's cock hot and straining and so fucking hard.  He'd seen it dozens of times--pretended _not_ to see it, because that was what Dean wanted.

But the _feel_ of it--all silky smooth on the outside and throbbing on the inside.  Dean moaned wantonly as Sam trailed his fingers up the shaft.

Sam's knees went wobbly, and he dropped to the tiles before Dean, who almost didn't let him go.  Sam yanked Dean's jeans down his thighs, letting his erection bob free right in front of Sam's lips.  Now he could smell his brother's natural musk mixed with the perfume.  "God, you're so hot, Dean.  So hard for me.  Can I lick you?"

Dean's eyes were wide.  He looked uncertain, and for a brief moment Sam dreaded the answer.  _No, Sam.  Get the fuck off the floor, Sam_.

"Do it," Dean croaked, doubt etching worry-lines around his eyes. 

He didn't want Dean to take it back, so he wrapped his hand around the base of Dean's cock and took as much of him down his throat as he could, in one fail swoop.  Dean tasted salty, and a little bitter, and his pubic hair was coarse under Sam's hand, and Sam loved every second of it.  He wasn't exactly a master deep-throater, but he did his best.  He worshiped Dean's cock, moaning and humming around it, letting Dean know exactly how good this was for him. 

Dean leaned his head back and gasped, hands clutching at the sink, mouth hanging wide.  Every once in a while Sam pulled off with a slurp to lay more praises at Dean's feet. 

"Taste so good, Dean.  You are so good for me, keeping still when I know you want to fuck my throat."  He went down again, relishing the way the head of Dean's dick flared against his soft palate.  He moaned around it and squeezed the base of Dean's shaft, making sure every inch of him was warm and wet.   He pushed forward until he couldn't breathe, and stayed there for as long as he could, listening to Dean's soft little pants. 

When he came up for air, he soothed Dean some more.  "So good.  Thank you.  Want to make you come on my tongue."

At that, Dean put a hand on Sam's shoulder.  "No.  Not yet.  I want..."

Sam could tell that asking for things was going to be difficult for Dean for a long time to come.  "Tell me," he coaxed.

"I want to come with you inside me," Dean huffed.

Sam's cock jumped.  He never thought he'd hear those words come out of Dean's mouth.  "Say it again," he pleaded, getting to his feet.  He trailed his fingers up the side of Dean's jaw.  "Say it again."

"I want to come with you inside me."

Sam pressed his hips forward, and their cocks collided.  Dean hissed as Sam took them both in hand, pressing their dicks together in his fist. 

Without hesitation, Dean wrapped his arms around Sam, giving in to the pleasure.  Sam clutched him by the chin once more--gently this time--and kissed him, open-mouthed and slow.  "Are you ready for me?" he breathed.

"Yes, S--"  Dean's voice caught in his throat.

" _Sam_ ," he prompted.

"Yes, S-Sam.  _Sammy_." 

Sam was about to ask him if he wanted to move to a bed when Dean turned on his own, gripping the sink and thrusting his hips back.  Sam groaned internally--after all that trouble Dean had looking at himself, he was going to let Sam take him in front of the mirror. 

"God, Dean," Sam sighed, trailing his fingertips down Dean's back, from between his shoulder blades all the way to the cleft of his ass.  "Fucking gorgeous, you know that?"

Taking himself in-hand, Sam butted up against Dean's pucker.  There was barely any resistance, but Sam held himself back.  Dean had fingered himself so well, it was going to be an easy slide.  But Sam wanted to take it slow, to push in little by little, to make sure they both felt it. 

This was like their first time, after all.

Gently, he rocked his hips forward. After the initial breach, Dean's insides were firm and tight.  He was so warm, and so slick. 

Sam groaned his appreciation, and Dean bit his lip, making it go white.  "It's okay, Dean," Sam said, running his fingers up the back of Dean's neck and through his hair, massaging his scalp.  "Moan for me.  I want to hear you.  Want to hear that deep voice of yours telling me what it's like."

Finally, Dean let out a sound.  It burst from him like a breath he'd been holding for eternity.  But it wasn't deep--it was a high-pitched keening that made Sam's cock jerk inside his brother.

Sam kept pushing forward, until his balls were wedged between himself and Dean's backside.  And Dean, bless him, he had his eyes open.  His mouth was working up and down as he made throaty little sounds, and he watched himself in the glass.  His breathing came high and fast, and Sam ran a soothing hand up and down his side.

"Tell me what you want," Sam urged. 

"Fuck me, Sammy," he gasped.

"What if I don't want to fuck you?" Sam asked, pulling out slowly, loving the way Dean's hole gripped him, like it didn't want to let go.  He thrust back in with equal control.  "What if I want to be good to you?  Be sweet with you, soft?" He slid out--"What if I want..."--then back in, all the way to the hilt.  "...to make love to you?"

Dean's legs were trembling.  "Oh, _now_ you wanna treat me like a fucking girl?" he asked, incredulous.

"Just want to show you how good this is," Sam whispered.  "How right."

"It is good," Dean agreed.  "Feels so good."

"But, is it... are you alright?  Are you ashamed of me?"

Their eyes met in the mirror.  Dean shook his head, lips parted and flushed, hips moving back and forth in delicious slow-motion.  "No.  I've never been ashamed of you."

Heart swelling, Sam forced Dean to turn his head, capturing his mouth in an awkward kiss as he picked up the pace of his thrusting.  When he let Dean go, Sam dropped his gaze to the junction of their bodies, watched himself slip in and out of Dean in a swift, steady rhythm.

Pleasure coiled in his groin, building like a pressure behind his pelvis and his abs. 

He reached around for Dean, needing to get a hand on that silky hardness more for himself than for his brother.  Dean nearly slapped him away out of habit, but instead of swatting him, Dean's hand curled around his, and they stroked Dean's cock in tandem.  Precum eased the slide. 

" _Sammy_ ," Dean groaned, the sound crawling up deep from behind his clenched teeth.  "So close."

"I know.  I know."  He could feel Dean squeezing him, clamping down around him.  "Me too.  Come on, Dean.  Scream my name.  I want to feel you come--with--my--name--on--"  He was losing it.  He started thrusting harder, deeper, dragging himself across every inch of Dean's insides.  His fist tightened around Dean's shaft.

And then Dean burst, hot and sticky over their hands, shouting just as he was told.  " _Sam_!"

"Good boy," Sam praised him, shoving deep into Dean as he toppled over the edge himself, shooting deep in Dean's ass.  The pleasure was all-encompassing, running from his toes to his scalp and pooling in the base of his cock and tingling through his sack.  It was the best fucking orgasm of his goddamed life.

Rutting through his aftershocks, Sam slowly parted from the intense sensations. 

He pulled out with a beautiful squelch, and his come dripped lewdly from Dean's fucked-out hole.  Unable to help himself, Sam dropped to his knees.

Dean cried out as Sam's tongue swirled his sensitive pucker and his lips ate away every drop of cum they could find.

"Love you so much," Sam said, resting his cheek on one hot globe of Dean's ass.  "Don't ever hide from me again."

Dean's knees gave out, and he sank down to the bathroom floor beside Sam.  Once again playing the protective older brother, he pulled Sam's head to his shoulder before resting his chin on top.  "I promise."

"We okay?"

"Yeah, Sammy.  We're okay."

**Author's Note:**

> God, if my agent ever finds out my work word-count is suffering due to smutty fan fiction, I think I'm dead.
> 
> Actually intended for this to be pretty evil from Sam's perspective--with him %100 shaming Dean for wanting him at all-- but the story did a one-eighty on me and I ended up with declarations of love. Go figure.


End file.
